Soothsay it ain't so
by Le soleil brille pas pour toi
Summary: [Oneshot] 'Minerva, my dear, it's simply a disaster,' Sybill wailed. Minerva bristled in irritation but swiftly smoothed over her expression, aware that the quickest way to regain peace would be to help her colleague through this crisis and send her on her way. 'Disaster, indeed,' she consoled, fighting to keep the sarcasm from her tone.


Writing prompt: Two characters must work together to solve a problem. The problem can be mundane or have high stakes.

Requirements: Maximum of 1,000 words.

Word count (excluding author's notes): 998

* * *

Minerva couldn't help but cock an eyebrow when she noticed Sybill entering the staffroom, looking quite as though she were on a mission. Her co-worker was, after all, usually much more content keeping to the confines of her tower. Her cup of Scottish breakfast slowed and stalled on its trajectory to her lips as she tried to recall the last time she'd seen Sybill in this room. The rest of the faculty tended not to object to the seer's rampant delinquency from staff meetings, being that when she deigned to attend, her major contributions were predictable predictions of demise.

Minerva shook her head to derail that train of thought and returned her cup to its saucer, intent upon resuming her assigned task – organizing Albus's impressive collection of issues of Challenges in Charming, stored conveniently (but messily) in the staffroom for the teachers' leisured perusal. It wouldn't have been too difficult a chore if not for the fact that the periodical's publishing schedule was 'whenever we feel like putting one out' – no, really, that was printed on the inner cover of each edition – and the labels made use of an obscure Frisian runic system that hadn't been used by anyone else since about the third century. She was just getting back into a steady working pace, having nearly finished identifying the issues from 1876, when Sybill's panicked mutterings reached a volume that was impossible to ignore.

'Oh, Merlin's very bones, what am I to do…'

Minerva looked up from her chronologizational pursuits just in time to see Sybill knock a teapot from the cabinet as she rifled through its contents. A surprised 'Arresto Momentum!' bubbled out of Minerva as if of its own accord, saving the pot from a confrontation with the stone floor that it wouldn't have won, and she absently congratulated herself on her quick (and not to mention wandless) reaction as she rose and made briskly towards the scene of the disturbance.

'Good heavens, Sybill, whatever is the matter?' Minerva asked, levitating the porcelain ware a safe distance outside Sybill's circumference of chaos and setting it on a countertop. She turned to find Sybill already striking a dramatic pose.

'Minerva, my dear, it's simply a disaster,' she wailed. 'My third years are doing tea leaf readings, and Miss Farley broke a teacup, one of my treasured pink ones. I realised at once that that meant their number had fallen to—' she paused, took in a shuddering breath, '—thirteen!'

Minerva bristled in irritation – this was why her work was being interrupted? – but swiftly smoothed over her expression, aware that the quickest way to regain peace would be to help her colleague through this crisis and send her on her way. 'Disaster, indeed,' she consoled, fighting to keep the sarcasm from her tone.

'They are a specially crafted tool, you know, highly sensitive to divinatory energies! If they remain at this ill-fated number they will draw in misfortune, and incite mayhem in every corner of the castle! My tower could collapse! The—the dungeon walls could cave and flood with lake water!'

Sybill's urgent tone grew ever shriller as she rattled off the sundry travesties that could befall the school at any moment. Minerva tutted along. 'That won't do at all.'

'Precisely, Minerva, something must be done! If I order more, they won't arrive for weeks, but if I could just find another teacup that matches their augural properties, it would stave off the worst of the possible consequences.'

Minerva tended to refrain from such immature expressions as eye rolling, but couldn't deny that she was sorely tempted to do so at this moment. She summoned a plush armchair from across the room and indicated for Sybill to sit. 'Well, what sort of cup are we looking for, then?'

Sybill blinked at her, seeming to realise for the first time that this sort of reaction was quite a bit different from what she'd come to expect of Minerva, but sank cooperatively into the seat nonetheless. 'Er, well, the main thing is I'll have to check its resonant aura, but it will help to look for a basin slope of about seventy degrees, and of course it would be preferable if the pattern matched my set…'

Minerva listened carefully to a long list of requirements, and then began a rather more methodical search than Sybill had been conducting. Each time the seer dismissed a candidate, it was added to an ever-growing reject pile on a nearby table.

'No, the saucer-to-cup diameter ratio is off.'

'You couldn't swirl a cup properly with a handle like that.'

'Orange?! How garish!'

Before long, Sybill had personally inspected every last teacup in the cabinet, and Minerva breathed a quiet sigh of relief, certain that Sybill would have no choice now but to take her search elsewhere.

'I'm sorry, Sybill, it seems there isn't a suitable match here. You might try the kitchens next, or perhaps Albus would be so kind as to show you his personal collection…'

'No, Minerva, it must be here!' Sybill exclaimed, suddenly reentering her agitated state. 'I'm sure I saw it in this cabinet before, this lovely little pink teacup, with a pattern of roses! Perhaps it's just been moved—'

The seething soothsayer had ejected herself from the armchair and turned to take in the rest of the room, cutting herself off mid-sentence when she spotted Minerva's work station, complete with Minerva's favourite rose-patterned teacup and saucer. 'Ah-ha!' Sybill cried, making a mad dive for the elusive ware. In her effort to pivot and dash out of the room, she bumped rather forcefully into Minerva's pile of already sorted magazines, sending them sprawling across the floor.

In the silence that followed, Minerva stood and processed the whirlwind that had occurred in the last dozen seconds. Abruptly, she turned on her heel and exited the staffroom, deciding that Albus's request could wait until after she'd taken a long, hot bath.

'I should have seen that coming.'

* * *

If you enjoyed this story, subscribe to my author alerts – I'm taking part in a Harry Potter writing competition, and will be posting new HP stories regularly over the coming months. To see all entries in this competition, head to the official FFnet forum: /forum/The-Quidditch-League-Fanfiction-Competition/134505/


End file.
